III
After their luncheon Easter went to Ash's for a lesson; also to pour into the sympathetic ear of Madame her impressions of the rehearsal; like the egotist she was, these personal impressions were intrinsically of more importance to her than the music or the singing. Ulick had left her, promising himself to see her at dinner that evening; he didn't propose to let Stone altogether monopolize her; but he couldn't be jealous of anybody much less of little Alfred Stone. It was a temperamental defect and he recognized it. Never to be jealous implied either supreme self-satisfaction or blunt indifference—which is worse than the rankest egotism. As he rode down town on the Third Avenue "L" to the office of the "Clarion," he recalled the gracious reception of Easter by the great Isolde; Lilli had been unusually amiable. Was it because Paul Godard was in her dressing-room? Ulick detested Paul, though calmly. That young millionaire sprig, who dabbled in music as he did in stocks and society, went everywhere. At Baireuth Ulick had dodged his company. Paul was so complacently conscious of himself that he irritated Ulick. And his dilettante attitude toward life and the Seven Arts was intolerable to Invern, who, notwithstanding his philosophy of laissez-faire, was a sincere student, one who despised the slipshod method and smattering of knowledge, the vice of the other young man.
Godard never noticed Ulick's reserved manner. He bubbled over when he met the critic as he bubbled over Lilli's Isolde, as he bubbled over Otero's dancing at Koster and Bial's. Paul admired all manifestations à la mode. His judgments were Mr. Everyman's. In the same breath he could praise Degas and Meissonier, Meyerbeer and Debussy. The absence of discriminating values in his conversation would send Ulick into a cold rage. He didn't like Paul's openly expressed admiration of Easter. Madame Lehmann had questioned her as to her plans, and, unasked, Paul had made some suggestions. "Now, there's Trabadello in Paris. I fancy he is the man for you. Or Mathilde Marchesi." What infernal impudence, thought Ulick. A stranger butting in like that. Lehmann, hearing the name of Frida Ash, approved, adding, "But my dear young lady, you musn't stay in New York too long. Your formative years should be spent in Europe, in Paris, in Berlin, in Milan. Some day you should try to sing at Baireuth if only the humblest rôles. You know that I was one of the Rhine-Daughters there at the first performance of the Ring in 1876. But if you go to Germany next Summer come to see me. Perhaps—if your voice—you have an excellent stage presence—who knows?" Paul Godard became ecstatic. "Ah, who knows?" he echoed like a parrot—so Ulick called him; "lucky Miss Brandès—Oh, I wonder if you are any relative of the divine Marthe—" "There he goes again with that damfool question," said Ulick to himself. "She ought to change her name." As they went away Ulick overheard Lilli say: "Yes, very effective. Cold temperament. Brilliant, but hard. She will push herself." He quickly glanced at the girl, who acted as if she hadn't heard this frank criticism. The enthusiasm which was like a halo when she had entered the presence of La Diva had quite disappeared. She was composed when she parted, after thanking Madame Lehmann for her kindness. Then and there Ulick made note that whenever anyone was polite to Easter she assumed a patronizing air. You can't have too much pride, advises Nietzsche. Ulick doubted the soundness of this axiom. Decidedly, Easter was too self-confident, too conceited, and pride goeth before a fall.
To his disappointment, when they were in the street, she began asking questions about Godard. Ulick had hoped she would be overwhelmed by the unexpected reception accorded her by Lehmann. She did not refer to the singer except to call her "a nice but condescending old lady." Paul Godard was another matter. Was he rich? Wasn't he handsome, a fascinating young man, and so witty, wise and helpful! Didn't Ulick notice how sensible were his suggestions? Who is Trabadello? Does he teach Wagner rôles? Marchesi can't. She's for such ornamental singers as Melba and Eames. That sort of singing didn't interest her. Flute-playing—nothing stirring or dramatic. She meant to be a Wagner singer, an extraordinary Isolde and Brunnhilde. Keep your Marguerites, your Gildas, Juliettes, yes, even your Carmens. I must conquer Wagner, she triumphantly asserted. Ulick exploded. Possibly the allusions to Godard got on his nerves, anyhow, it was the proper time to put this braggart in her place. "You and your Wagner," he testily exclaimed. "Are you so silly and ignorant as to fancy that you can step out of Madame Ash's solfeggi class straight to the footlights? You are enormously ignorant—don't interrupt me. Frida has told me. Your voice is remarkable, and so is your musical memory. But you have no style, no personality—yes, don't get angry, Easter"—he paused, but her face was averted, and he couldn't tell if she were angry at the familiar address—"personality, I mean in your art; you have enough in life, too much," he ventured. She didn't reply and then they had gone to Moretti's. When they parted she seemed in good humour.
But as she strolled up Irving Place en route to her lesson her expression was far from contented. He had scratched her vanity and she felt unforgiving. What was Ulick to her? He wasn't a music-critic, he wouldn't be so useful as Stone. Yet, he had a lot of influence. She could see that, and then hadn't he brought her to Lilli and mightn't that meeting decide her artistic fate? She made up her mind that it should. Already New York was a drag on her spirit and she a resident only a few weeks. No, she would follow Lilli to Berlin and study with her no matter what Ulick, or Stone, or Ash said to the contrary. And the money? Where in the world was it to come from? She calmly turned over in her mind the possibilities of Paul Godard. That wouldn't do, she decided, and rejected the idea, not however because of its inherent immorality. She began thinking of Allie Wentworth and her set. Allie was an Ash pupil and Easter played her accompaniments. An intimacy ensued. Allie was an heiress. Old Wentworth was the Olive-Oil King, or some such idiotic title, and he had money to burn, Easter reflected. There might be something in that direction. Paul was nice, his eyes had measured every inch of her, and those eyes had eloquently related their admiration. What if she played for a bigger stake? this notion she also reflected as improbable of execution; besides, she would' never marry. Marriage. Stupid slavery for an ambitious woman.... Her thought poised lightly on Ulick and despite herself she coloured ... he is a charming boy, but so self-opinionated. She was late and had to mollify Madame Frida. Luckily the pupil she had kept waiting was Miss Wentworth. She chatted with her at the end of the lesson. Allie was a masculine creature, who affected a mannish cut of clothes. She wore her hair closely cut and sported a hooked walking stick. Her stride and bearing intrigued Easter, who had never seen that sort before. All of Wentworth's friends were of the sporting order. All smoked, and, a shocking deviation from the conventionality of that time, they drove their own motor-cars. Easter thought them rather free in their speech, and too familiar. Allie was always hugging her when alone. She drank liqueurs with her coffee and wasn't ashamed to avow the habit. She invited Easter to visit her and Madame Frida gave her consent. They are immensely wealthy, she confided to her pupil and may be of use to you some day. Allie is a crazy-cat but a jolly girl.
When Easter told her of Lehmann's suggestion Madame was amazed. "What! You a chit who only have a a voice and a pretty face to go to Lehmann before you know how to sing? If Lilli heard you once she wouldn't be so generous with her invitation. Why, child, you must stay with me two or three years, then it may be time to think of Isolde. Lilli and her Grünewald villa!" Easter drawled out that she proposed singing for Lehmann after the Christmas holidays so that Lilli wouldn't be buying a pig in a poke. Again, consternation on the part of Ash. Well, if you sing for Lilli suppose we get to work on some Bach. Easter loathed Bach, although she knew that his music was necessary to the formation of a sound vocal style. So she didn't demur, and presently she was delivering an old chorale, accompanying herself, and singing with such tonal richness and exaltation of feeling that the tears came unbidden to the eyes of the veteran teacher. Afterwards she told Stone that the girl was a torment but—a genius. Yes, the word was spoken. Why, she eats the words out of my mouth, cried Madame Frida. She anticipates me. Conceited? Yes. She has a good right to be. At the present rate—she will be singing Wagner in a couple of years ... Alfred, you think she has no temperament? She is bursting with it. When she kicks over the traces, I shouldn't like to be in the coach behind. But sly—selfishly sly. After this psychological diagnosis Madame emitted a sigh of satisfaction.
IV
Stone still stuck to his post as vis-à-vis to Easter at dinner. But since the return of Ulick the table was too small for three, and, as Ulick couldn't very well be shaken off by Stone—who faintly hoped that Easter entertained the same idea—they had asked Papa Felicé for a larger table and were given a round one in the centre of the room. The Felicés were glad to see that the men were beginning to cluster about the Southern girl. As long as proprieties were outwardly observed no questions were asked in the Maison; they might have proved awkward. Wedding rings did not abound there, yet what a delightful oasis it was in the big, noisy city. A good dinner, cooked by an Alsatian chef, excellent wines, if you cared to order them, and a nice tight little game till any hour you cared to lose your money; it was a proverb in the Maison that Yankee guile, no matter the cards, could not prevail against the skill of the patron and his urbane wife. In sooth, it seldom did. Stone played when in funds and always cursed the house, his luck, when he lost. Ulick didn't know how to play cards, or, indeed, any games indoor or out-door. He agreed with Huysmans, who wrote that a monument should be erected to the memory of the inventor of playing cards, for had he not done something toward the suppression of free-speech among imbeciles? He forgot the women, said Ulick. They always gabble, even on their death bed.